Graveyard Soil: A Johnlock Angst and Romance
by ByrdIsTheWord
Summary: Chasing a criminal, Sherlock is hurt.  John is torn between caring for his flat mate and killing the asshole who put the two lovers in this situation. Sherlock and John come face to face with a problem they can only face together: possible separation.
1. Chapter 1

Graveyard Soil: A Johnlock Angst/Romance

Rating: R (for graphic detail of the horror and romantic kind, eventually)

Pairing: BBC!John Watson and BBC!Sherlock Holmes

Summary: Hot on the tail of a criminal, when Sherlock is hurt, John is torn between caring for his flat mate and killing the asshole who put the two lovers in this situation. Sherlock and John come face to face with a problem they can only face together: possible separation.

Why should I bother reading this?: This is a co-authored fic between myself and alvara ( alvara dot tumblr dot com ), who is the Sherlock to my John and the umbrella to my Mycroft. She is incredibly talented and it's all ways nice to see two different writing styles interacting in the same story. Plus, there shall be much Johnlock angstiness and sexiness.

Read on!

Alvara:

A soft glow glimmered off the wet pavement from the gentle moonlight humming through the brisk London air, misty clouds floating by leisurely in the dark violet sky. A shout broke through the thin cool air as a hooded man made a sharp turn through a dark alleyway, two men hot on his heels as he jumped and climbed onto the creaking rusty ladder of a nearby fire escape and dashed up its stairs toward the roof tops.

Sherlock was quick on the young man's tail, reaching up with a gloved hand and grasping the freezing metal of the ladder before it snapped up to the platform above. He was determined not to lose this one thread to the head of a minor blackmailing ring, the lowly criminal they were chasing holding the small piece of data missing that would lead straight to the location of the crime syndicate. He yanked the ladder down abruptly, starting to rush up the cold metal to the platform all while keeping track of how much distance was between him and the young hooded man.

"Hurry, John!" Sherlock called back behind him to the heavy breathing man jogging a few meters behind him, not about to abandon the doctor but the distance between them and the petty criminal was vastly widening every second they wasted.


	2. Chapter 2

Simone:

"I'm trying, Sherlock!" John panted as he struggled to keep up with the fit detective. "Maybe if you would remember the damn milk…"

Sherlock bit his lip as he strained his muscles further, feeling the rippling effect taking a toll on his muscles. He exhaled out into the biting London air and kept his eyes locked on the racing criminal.

His coat billowed as he bounded over the grates atop the building. He narrowed his eyes, focusing his senses on the man behind him.

**Fwoomp,****fwoomp**, John's feet padded across the building's metal top. He was getting closer.

Sherlock's eyes shot open in the stinging air. They had reached the edge of the building.

The hooded figure stopped short, catching his balance.

"I don't care if you die. You can jump. I'll get my information, and you know that."

The hooded figure breathed in heavily, chest pounding.

John jogged up beside Sherlock, resting his hands on his knees. "Love the…running," he rolled his eyes as he breathed deeply.

"I know what you need," the figure responded, beginning to turn towards the two men. "And you know," he pulled out a gun and pointed it at John, "that I can't let that happen."

"Oh, predictable," Sherlock whined, crossing his arms.

"Hey, hey," John put his arms up as a sign of surrender. "I'm just his friend."

"Colleague," Sherlock smirked coyly, thinking of just how far their relationship had progressed since they had met. He glanced at his strawberry jam-red flustered flat mate and couldn't help but feel his lip pull up into a half-smile.

"Semantics," the criminal spit out, cocking the gun.


	3. Chapter 3

Alvara:

Sherlock turned his attention back to the criminal, still hooded but the gun could tell some of what the shadowed face didn't. Cheaply made and about six years old from what the familiar manufacturer design could tell him. Dirt under the short finger nails made it obvious that he did manual labor, most likely grave digging do to the nature of his affiliation with local small gangs and the blackmailing ring. The dirt under his fingernails was constant with the conclusion as well, a deep rich brown that was common in soil with high collections of decomposing plants and animals.

Overall, a petty criminal who was stuck in that way of life, not there by choice. Easy to manipulate. He wishes he had a bit more of a challenge.

"You're a grave digger, I take it?" Sherlock said, gaining a bit of a worried glance from John as he stepped forward carelessly to the man who was obviously willing to shoot one of them. "Not much money in being a simple lackey for a criminal organization. Bury a lot of bodies but never get the credit for killing them."

"Sherlock." John hissed, not sure where the consulting detective was going with this but the last sentence sounded a lot like Sherlock was trying to convince the hooded man to kill them.

"Is it really worth it? If the only reason you're staying with them is money or protection from the police, they won't supply you with that for much longer." John was gritting his teeth now as Sherlock spoke, alarmingly aware of how close he was getting to the criminal aiming a gun directly at Sherlock's chest. "They will know that I've tracked you down and see you as a liability. They'll get rid of you. You could easily get away if you just tell me where the regime of the crime ring is. They will be arrested long before they can punish you and you will get away clean. Understood?"

The grip on the cheap gun weakened slightly, seeming to imply that he had gotten through to the criminal's muddled mind. It was tense for a moment before the soft smirk on Sherlock's face dropped at the sight of the aim of the gun being corrected and the trigger being pulled.

Sherlock always hated it when he missed something vital in his deductions.


	4. Chapter 4

Simone:

John instantly pulled out his gun pointing it at the criminal. He kept his arm as he bent down next to Sherlock.

"Where did he hit you? Just point," John grit his teeth. He had seen hundreds of deaths in the army, nearly his own. if there was any time he needed to keep himself in check, it was now.

"Don't," Sherlock gasped, clutching his chest dangerously close to his heart.

"Point, Sherlock," John cocked the gun, keeping his eyes locked on Sherlock's.

"Nothing vital, Don't—" Sherlock coughed into his arm, his breathing ragged. "—let him away."

John glared at the grave digger, who smiled sickeningly back at him. He returned his attention to Sherlock. "Point, Sherlock," his jaw tensed.

Sherlock winced, clutching his side.

John scooted closer to him, keeping the grave digger in his peripheral vision. He kept his gun pointed at the man as his right hand lifted Sherlock's bloody shirt slowly, steadily. There was a gaping gash between his left fifth and sixth rib. Close to the spleen, liver, pancreas, and lung. Not good. John feverishly ripped a corner of his own shirt off, clumsily wrapping Sherlock's wound with his free hand.

"It's going to be fine," he murmured, more to himself than to Sherlock.


End file.
